


Billy's Non-Costume

by prettyboyporter



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 03:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter
Summary: On this Halloween night, Steve swallows heavily. His eyes drop down over Billy’s body. “Who are you supposed to be?”Billy feels hot all over with Steve stepping into his space, his voice affected. It’s like Billy’s standing on concrete in the scorching SoCal summer sun, heat pouring on skin.The answer is a little more complex, though. Of course Steve meant costume, as if Billy had dressed like another persona. But his question,Who are you supposed to be?, is a question that could be philosophised over, studied by research psychologists, written about and poured over in academic magazines.





	Billy's Non-Costume

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!

On this Halloween night, Steve swallows heavily. His eyes drop down over Billy’s body. “Who are you supposed to be?” 

Billy feels hot all over with Steve stepping into his space, his voice affected. It’s like Billy’s standing on concrete in the scorching SoCal summer sun, heat pouring on skin. 

The answer is a little more complex, though. Of course Steve meant costume, as if Billy had dressed like another persona. But his question, _Who are you supposed to be?_, is a question that could be philosophised over, studied by research psychologists, written about and poured over in academic magazines. 

**~*~**

Almost four months ago, Billy was _dead_. No heartbeat, not breathing. He’s been told this over and over in hushed tones, by countless faces by his hospital armrest and at the edge of his bed on Cherry Lane. He _felt_ dead. He felt out of body, out of sorts. Disconnected -- like an old 8-track player from the 70s, forgotten about in some basement, collecting dust. Before the fourth of July, it was the opposite. He felt _too_ much a part of his body -- a raw nerve, set off by anything. After, though. After he felt discordant. Incongruous. 

Doctor Owens came to Cherry Lane every day. He’d ask questions, but Billy would just give him a yes or no or vague shrug. Talking wasn’t his _thing_. Talking was for humans, and Billy felt _far_ from human.

Until three months ago, when Doc Owens pissed Billy the fuck off. He was pushing Billy in physical therapy harder, Billy was already dripping sweat on the hand weights, exhaling heavily through his mouth, and Doc was talking talking _talking_, come on you can do it Billy, you’re a tough sonofabitch, you’ve handled worse than this, you can bounce back, you’re strong, so strong and--

And Billy screamed, from somewhere near the bottom of his toes the scream rolled up and up and he screamed until he fell on his knees and his throat was raw. He screamed for his mother who he loved, who left him alone. He screamed for his father, who never loved him, who treated him like garbage. 

Three months ago, Billy screamed for the want of a boy he knew he could never have. 

“You fucking asshole, Doc, I swear to god you’re a motherfucking _asshole_,” Billy shouted. 

Doc Owens smiled and placed a gentle hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Welcome back, Billy.” 

Two months ago, Max sat on the edge of Billy’s bed. She helped him rub cocoa butter on the scars on his back and talked about science, about maybe joining band. About how dumb her boyfriend is, then launching into a story about something about how he did something _cute_. 

She’d invited fucking _Henderson_ over. Henderson lingered uneasily in Billy’s doorway as she lay back on Billy’s bed, her feet jammed under his thigh. She complained about how The Party made her see _Better off Dead_ which she did not think was funny at _all_. 

Henderson stepped forward twice while giving one hysterical laugh. “Not funny? If by not funny you mean chock filled with comedic genius, then you’d be correct, Max.” 

Max rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to retort, but Billy burst out and said loudly, “I WANT MY TWO DOLLARS.” 

Henderson turned to Billy, a look of wary surprise and tentative glee on his face. “Four weeks. Twenty papers. That’s _two dollars_.” 

“I was thinkin,” Billy said in his best awkward John Cusack. “You skate. I skate. _We_ skate.” 

Dustin cackled. “First we have _Franch_ fries. AND we have _Franch_ dressing.” 

Max yanked her feet out from under Billy’s leg. “You guys are the biggest dweebs.” She shoved up off of the bed and left Billy’s room. 

“Hang on,” Billy said. “Lemme just-” he started sifting through his cassettes, found the one he was looking for, popped it in the deck and pressed play. 

Van Halen’s _Everybody Wants Some_ came pouring out and Henderson’s face broke into a wide grin. 

And that was how, two months ago, Billy was the guy who would play air guitar with a little nerd in his room. 

One month ago, Steve Harrington came into Billy’s life as softly as a little ripple on the water’s surface. Billy took a job working at Jack Sinclair’s donut shop because Lucas’s dad told his brother that he knew a kid, used to be trouble, but was ready for a second chance. 

Turned out that Jack Sinclair was a strong believer in second chances. With a handshake and a “been there myself, young man. Wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for someone believing in me and letting me try again.” And Billy ducked his head -- wasn’t really used to those kinds of words directed at him. That unabashed earnestness. So on his second day on the job, Steve popped in for a coffee and donuts to take with him to his shift at Family Video. 

“Thanks. Glad Jack hired you,” Steve said, and he was blushing and playing with the corner of his donut box. “Come over anytime. If you like, want to rent a video. Or talk. Or whatever, y’know?” 

“Sure.” Billy gripped the edge of the display case. “Seeya around, Harrington.” 

Harrington stood there and smiled dumbly for a moment. “Yeah. Seeya.” 

He walked out the door. Billy had totally forgotten Max was there until he looked over and saw her looking at him, both eyebrows raised. “So like. You gonna hang out with Steve Harrington now?”

“I don’t know, dipshit, he literally just asked me to come to his work.” 

“Sounds like he wants to hang out.” 

“Whatever.”

“He was acting weird.”

“He was not.”

“_You’re_ acting weird.” 

“Maxine?”

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck off.” 

She rushed behind the counter and charged into him, throwing her arms around his waist. As quickly as the embrace happened, she ran off. 

One month ago he was the guy who got awkwardly maybe invited to hang out and aggressively hugged by his sibling. 

It seemed like the passage of time led to an influx of absurdity. 

Until. 

Until one week ago, after spending an exorbitant amount of time with Steve before work, after work, during work when they could get away with it, even sleepovers -- eight times at Steve’s, four times at Cherry Lane -- and then Steve Harrington helped Billy move into a little one-bedroom apartment over Jack Sinclair’s garage. It was tiny but it had hardwood floors and functioning appliances, and Jack was letting Billy stay there for minimal rent. 

While Steve was helping Billy unpack his few belongings, Billy pulled out from a box his 1981 yearbook from San Diego. He flipped open the navy blue cover to the freshman class. Down through the Hs he found Hargrove, William. 

The third picture in the row was a round-faced, gumpy looking, curly-haired boy with a grin. 

Steve stood next to Billy and pressed his shoulder to Billy’s. “Oo, lemme see.” 

Billy tugged the yearbook back. “Nah. Don’t think so, Harrington. Not tonight.” 

Steve leaned down to peek at the cover. “1981? Freshman year. Oh man I gotta see this. Cmon, lemme have a look. Can’t be all that bad.” He reached over and pulled gently at the yearbook.

He was so close -- Billy could feel the warmth from his side. He smelled Steve’s scent of sweat and Polo. A little entranced, Billy let Steve have the yearbook. 

“Aw, now this isn’t bad. You were so _cute_.” Steve smiled down at the yearbook. “Still are pretty cute.” He said the last bit quietly. He pressed in tightly with his shoulder.

Billy’s heart landed up somewhere in his throat. He felt his skin flush and regarded his boots. “Thanks. I guess.” 

Steve seemed a little jittery after that and left not long after with, “gotta go help my mom with something, see you tomorrow?” 

And Steve came by the next day and helped unpack, brought over a few kitchen items that he’d pilfered from his own kitchen because they never got used. But no shoulder touching. No _pretty cute_. 

So, a week ago, Billy was a guy on his own -- a guy who felt like he’d just been flirted with. Or not. Billy couldn’t tell.

Yesterday Billy was rooting around in the Science Fiction section in the back corner of Family Video when Steve found him. “Hey,” he said. “Devil’s night tonight. Going for Science Fiction? Not horror?” 

“Not really in the mood,” Billy said. Horror lived in his mind -- haunted still by ghosts of being a captive in his own mind. Of dying in with a scream with shooting arms, undulating with disgusting goo, claws piercing skin and muscle. 

“Yeah. I can see why you would skip it,” Steve said. His face went soft and he leaned forward. “Wanna come over to my place tomorrow? We can watch _Trading Places_.” He was so close now that his breath ghosted over Billy’s cheek. “Christmas in October? I’ll order us pizza.”

“Sure,” Billy said. “What time?” 

“Eight?” 

Something familiar deep inside of him clawed its way up. Something hot and needy, that twisted low with want in his gut. “Sounds perfect. See you then, good lookin.” 

Steve smiled and started toying with a movie case on the shelf. 

Apparently, as of yesterday, Billy was the kind of guy who would flirt with Steve Harrington. 

This afternoon, Max stood behind Billy in his bathroom while he was perched on a stool. A few locks of his hair were on his floor -- she’d given him a bit of a trim, smoothed it over with hair product. He shaved off his mustache, and tried on a white button-up tucked into a new pair of jeans and pulled on a sleek leather coat. He topped it off with a light blue scarf. She sat on the edge of his bed, arms crossed. 

“You look phenomenal,” she said. 

“Really?” Billy assessed himself in the mirror. His hair was longer now, but a bit more styled thanks to Max. 

“Yeah. Just one thing. Here.” She approached him with a little blue pencil. “Look up, and hold still.” 

The touch of the eyeliner to his lower eyelid made him flinch, but after a moment he grew used to the sensation. She stepped back and a bright grin broke over her face. “You look like a rock star. You should be on Headbanger’s Ball.” 

Billy assessed himself one last time and yeah -- he looked fucking _good_. He tugged Max by the arm and pulled her in tight. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“No problem. Just don’t forget that the next time I ask you to buy beer for us.”

He ruffled the top of her head. “Never gonna happen, shitbird.” He planted a kiss there. 

So as of an hour ago, Billy was the guy who let his little sister make him over so that he could impress a boy. 

**~*~**

On this Halloween night, Steve swallows heavily. His eyes drop down over Billy’s body. “Who are you supposed to be?” 

Billy feels hot all over with Steve stepping into his space, his voice affected. It’s like Billy’s standing on concrete in the scorching SoCal summer sun, heat pouring on skin. 

Billy is a brother. Friend. Donut slinger. Survivor. Potential lover. He’s not in a costume -- not now. Nor does he want to be -- he thinks about who he is in this moment, the pinnacle of a mountain of bullshit. The superior B side on a cassette tape.

He crowds Steve back against the wall and tilts his chin up, takes the kiss that Steve readily gives, sweet and hot slide of lips, Steve’s breath fanning down over the corner of Billy’s mouth and Steve’s hand on his face. 

Billy pulls back from Steve’s lips with a wet smack. “I came dressed as the guy who wants to date Steve Harrington.” 

“Hm,” Steve says and steals another kiss from Billy’s lips, and honestly, this might be the best Halloween he’s ever had. He can’t imagine having another Halloween, another holiday, another _day_, without Steve’s lips on his own. “I dressed up as Billy Hargrove’s boyfriend. Looks like we’re matching.” 

Steve takes Billy to the sofa and kisses him there, long minutes tick by of the sweet taste of Steve’s lips, the teasing touch of his tongue, until trick-or-treaters knock at the door. Steve sets out the entire bowl of candy on the porch and shuts off the light. 

“Come to bed with me,” Steve says, and offers up his hand. 

And Billy takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> prettyboyporter on tumblr
> 
> Edit: neonlaynes made adorable art for this story [here](https://neonlaynes.tumblr.com/post/188867421117/happy-stranger-things-day-first-is-a-scene-from) on tumblr!!


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